


lonely lover won't you spare yourself some love?

by d_fenestrate



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Character Study, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Introspection, Mentioned Hinata Natsu, Mentioned Hinata Shouyou, Mentioned Kageyama Kazuyo, Mentioned Kageyama Tobio, Post-Canon, miwa is a curious child who tries to understand relationships but its harder than expected, miwalisa at the end first we must talk about miwa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 09:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30002547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_fenestrate/pseuds/d_fenestrate
Summary: Why is the world oh so strange?Why are people oh so confusing?And why is it that she longs for a connection like those she distantly observes from her solitary desk in the brightly lit classroom? Why is it that she feels the urge to step outside of the mental humble abode she transports with her wherever she goes? Surely, she has relationships at home, she can experience these anomalies there.Can she? She can, right?alt; a miwa study, the world, relationships, loneliness, and miwalisa at the end
Relationships: Haiba Alisa/Kageyama Miwa
Kudos: 4





	lonely lover won't you spare yourself some love?

**Author's Note:**

> hiya! k here! with a miwa character study!!! wow so exciting!!!! i literally just let myself go with this one, which was incredibly fun!!! things might have gotten out of hand, but that's okay haha. 
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> special thanks to [christy](https://twitter.com/cosmogonyAO3) for beta-ing this work and dealing with my inconsistent writing. and also, special thanks to [kaa](https://twitter.com/kaartwheels) for picking this piece to make art for. im literally so touched by your art, it's Perfect. 
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> [art for this fic!!! it's absolutely beautiful!!!](https://twitter.com/kaartwheels/status/1370465871164887044?s=20)
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> if you're wondering about music, i listened to mxmtoon on repeat for this wip. 
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> but yeah,,,, HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!!

**_Agapé:_ **

**_a love, a charity, in regard towards children and spouses_ **

Kageyama Miwa is seven years old. And the world is oh so strange. 

Kageyama Miwa is seven years old, and the world is oh so strange, and she is trying her best to understand, to make sense of the logic she picks up on between the times when the sun lifts into the sky and the times when it falls down out of her mind’s picture frames. 

Why does the sun do that? 

Kageyama Miwa is seven years old, and the world is oh so strange, and she has started to question everything and anything around her. She sees the birds flying and wonders what makes them fly and sees the trees growing and tries to understand why she can’t be as tall herself. She wonders and wonders and somewhere along the line she starts to understand the world for what it is. Even in understanding, Miwa sees the world as oh so strange and oh so large and oh so complex to ever completely comprehend. 

It’s frustrating. It’s fascinating. Altogether, the world is overwhelming, leaving the little seven year old stranded, feeling helplessly oh so small. 

Why does the world do that?

But when she returns home, slipping off her shoes and putting them away neatly and then beelining for the crib in the distant room all the way down the hall, Miwa feels the weight of her worldly questions escape her, left behind at the doorstep outside. Her little footsteps patter against the hardwood floors as she jumbles forward, hastily greeting her grandfather and then continuing down the hall. 

She approaches a door. She pushes on a door. And the door gives way, swinging out to reveal a crib housing a little round creature who is currently reaching out into the air, pawing at the toy stars dangling right above him. 

The world is oh so strange. But this feeling that Miwa feels as she steps into the room, her footsteps light as she smiles bright, is even stranger. 

Why does she do that? What about this particular baby is capable of blooming a warmth in her chest, pushing away the fears of feeling so small in the large world left outside their door? 

Miwa can’t tell. But she senses that this feeling belongs within her, and so she allows herself to question happily as she coos at her younger brother lying in her old crib in her old room. She questions the small fingers and the little pout. She questions the growing tufts of hair, and she questions the babbles and the cries. 

Most importantly, she questions the large eyes that stare at her endlessly, sparkling at every movement she makes, looking at Miwa as if she were his entire world, as if she were capable of being his entire world. 

The world is strange. The world is intimidating. And Miwa is often overwhelmed by all that she does not know. 

But here, it is different. Here, Miwa is the world. And Tobio is the spectator, looking up at her with large, navy eyes that question her just as she questions her own world. 

Miwa can’t help but laugh when she sees Tobio grab the soft volleyball placed by his head. She watches gleefully as Tobio gnaws on the plush, trying to work with the strange object in his hands. Eyes widening, Miwa jumps back and runs to her room to grab her own volleyball. She’s quick to return, capturing Tobio’s attention immediately. 

“Watch carefully, Tobio,” she whispers, leaning in to gently poke Tobio’s round cheek. Tobio giggles, not letting go of his own volleyball. 

Miwa steps back. Shoulders squared back, she starts to toss the ball up in the air repeatedly, searching for a steady rhythm. From her periphery, she keeps an eye on Tobio’s stare, happy to know that her brother never stops looking at her sets. 

Here, Miwa is the world. Tobio is the spectator. And she welcomes him with open arms, answering unasked questions before they form, willingly satisfying her brother's curiosities before they can fester, keeping them at bay so Tobio keeps smiling at the newness he encounters every second. 

When Kageyama Tobio appeared in her life, Kageyama Miwa was introduced to agapé. And, this love never goes away, refreshing and strengthening as Tobio grows and grows and grows, both in his own life and in Miwa’s.

  
  
  
  


**_Philia_ **

**_Affection, friendship, a love shared between equals_ **

The world might be oh so strange, but Miwa finds that the people around her are even stranger. She sees the adults walking around, faces downcast and shadowed, when she walks to school. She sees the teenagers loitering around, faces wearing a large range of undecipherable emotions. She sees Tobio crawling around, hands hitting the ground as he tries to find words to say and expressions to wear. 

At least when she tried to understand the world, there were rules she knew she could find. There were patterns and there was logic behind the phenomenon she observed. It’s all so simple, the order of the way things are. 

But with people, you can never know what is going on behind the hooded eyes that never look up, behind the glinting eyes that always degrade, and behind the large, sparkling eyes that stare at her with a storm of emotions behind them. 

Miwa doesn’t understand. She can’t find the pattern, nor can she find the logic. People will act in ways that don’t match the words they speak. People will feel in ways that don’t match the situations they encounter. 

Why do they do that? 

Yet, people, by themselves, do not match the mystery of the connections they foster. No, for, on their own, they are capable of internalizing rationale, creating patterns and rules for their oh strange behaviors. Just like Miwa does in the small she has created for herself in her own mind, a space where the size of the external world can fare no fears. But with others? There is no internal control. Nor is there external control. Miwa can neither predict how one or the other will react to change or, much to her confusion, create change. 

Why are people so confusing? 

And why is it that she longs for a connection like those she distantly observes from her solitary desk in the brightly lit classroom? Why is it that she feels the urge to step outside of the mental humble abode she transports with her wherever she goes? Surely, she has relationships at home, she can experience these anomalies there. 

Can she? She can, right? 

Tobio is far too young to even talk to her, let alone understand these curiosities and frustrations that riddle Miwa through her days and nights, rolling around to follow her like a volleyball trailing across the gym floor. Her grandfather, Kazuyo, is far too old to talk to like how the kids in the classroom talk to each other. He has all the answers, and they don’t. It’s certainly confusing. Miwa isn’t sure why she’d rather want no answers over them all. 

A girl much like her keeps throwing looks in Miwa’s direction, her head ducking every time Miwa meets her eyes. Curious, Miwa gives into the urge to walk out as she stands from her desk and approaches the other. Standing in front of the other’s desk, Miwa watches as the girl continues to avert her gaze, face red and words incoherent. 

“I’m Kageyama Miwa,” she says, sticking her hand out. Kazuyo always does this to new people. 

The girl looks at her hand. She takes it, shaking it hesitantly. “I’m… Ito Yua,” she says, finally meeting Miwa’s gaze. Something in the moment makes Miwa smile and Yua relaxes. 

“Uh…” Miwa then stammers. She had not planned this interaction thoroughly enough. 

Yua, thankfully, is ahead of her. “Do you want to play? Or we could go to the swings? I saw you at the swings yesterday.”

Yes, Miwa thinks. She had been at the swings. She likes the swings because the peaceful motions help her think. And it’s fun. 

“We can play at the swings,” Miwa proposes, pointing at the dolls hidden away in Yua’s backpack. The suggestion causes Yua to smile even more. She squeaks in excitement as she jumps out of her desk, grabbing both her toys and Miwa’s hand, and then runs for the free standing swings outside. Miwa allows herself to be dragged, eventually falling into the rhythm of their sprint to the outdoors. 

At the swings, the two sway lightly, with Yua introducing her dolls to Miwa. Miwa listens quietly, taking note of how Yua treats each figure, and taking even more note of the relationships between the toys. 

“People are weird,” she says flatly. Yua looks at her inquisitively. Miwa looks at the dolls in the other person’s hands. “But your dolls are easy to understand.” 

Yua may not have known what Miwa was implying. Nevertheless, the compliment struck her like a chord, eliciting bubbly happiness from the other, a glee that Miwa would never expect from Kazuyo and a glee that Tobio would still not comprehend in his baby-like state. 

It’s a glee that she and Yua can understand. It’s a glee that rests on equal grounds between the two. 

Equal, Miwa thinks. She and Tobio are not equals. Kazuyo and she are not equals. 

Yua and Miwa? Now, they might just be. 

Miwa doesn’t quite understand how this relationship right here can be so simple. But she doesn’t mind, enjoying it far more than the other relationships she’s come across. It comes to her naturally, like the order of the world, like the surprise from Tobio and the love from her grandpa. 

It comes to her in equality, reciprocated by Yua in strange, undefined ways. And Miwa feels a part of her fill up with something unlike how Tobio and Kazuyo make her feel. 

With Yua, Miwa meets Philia. She’s not quite sure if she understands it. But it makes her happy, so she takes it and goes. 

  
  
  
  


**_Éros_ **

**_A love felt for a person that turns into an appreciation for their beauty within_ **

Kageyama Miwa is thirteen years old now. She has been friends with Yua for about five years. In those five years, people have flickered in and out of her life, some shining brighter than others, a few bright enough to leave a lasting light. 

Kageyama Miwa’s heart is full. Now complete, the weight of the world rests stable and firm upon her curiosities, questions she feels free to ask with each confident, balanced footstep. 

Miwa is happy. Happiness is certainly what she’d define this feeling as. 

“Did you hear Akari has a boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” Miwa asks, mouth full with curry and rice. 

“Yeah,” Yua says, pushing her green beans into Miwa’s plate. “Akari is dating that boy from class 1-4.” 

Miwa takes in another bite. She chews slowly, mulling over Yua’s words. “Is anyone else dating?” she questions, the words spoken carefully. 

Yua hums in thought. “I think I heard of another couple. But they’re in the older sections.” 

Miwa takes in another bite. She chews once, twice, and then a third time, pausing mid-chew. She blinks, staring at the barely touched curry rice in front of her. She waits. And when her stomach rumbles from within, Miwa packs up her chopsticks and pushes her lunch aside, quietly closing the box with its lid. 

“Not hungry?” 

Miwa shakes her head. “I’m full,” she lies. 

Yua doesn’t question it. And, for once, neither does Miwa. 

  
  
  
  


From the prime seating of the swings, Miwa has a perfect, encompassing view of the playground and the variety of groups that roam around. As she sways, she’s able to watch and observe the kids of her school, engaging with dynamics without ever having to leave her comfort space and step into someone else’s. 

Yua wasn’t wrong. From what Miwa could tell, there were two couples in their school, two pairs of kids who distinctly hovered around the other, flushing red and stammering as they grew close and close. From what Miwa could see, these couples were gifted with awkwardness in light of their giddy, flustered laughs, neither of the two ever achieving anything beyond a giggle and a glance. 

Is this dating? If it is, then what becomes of it? 

From the VIP swings, Miwa is blessed with the honor to witness yet another awkward boy tip toe to a girl, a single flower stolen from the side of the road hidden behind his back. She is blessed with the honor to hear the girl’s friends shriek and the boy’s friends roar when the girl in question timidly nods, gingerly taking the battered flower in her hands. 

Miwa distantly knew the girl. Never had she expected the other to want a relationship. Miwa didn’t know the boy. But never did Miwa expect a brash boy known for his destruction on the playground to want a relationship. 

Miwa blinks, pulling her gaze away. The swing next to her is empty. Yua hadn’t come to school that day, staying behind to fend off a minor illness. The silence is rare but Miwa welcomes it as an old friend. 

Even without Yua by her side, Miwa knows her heart is full. And beyond that, she knows she is happy, just as she was months ago when the school year first began. 

Miwa looks back at the crowd, noticing just how close the new couple had become. It’s not much, not all. But there’s a significant difference in how the two regard each other in comparison to how they regard their other friends. 

Miwa is full. Miwa is happy. 

Her stomach grumbles, reminding her of the half eaten curry and rice sitting in her lunchbox in the classroom. 

Does she want a relationship? Isn’t she happy as she is? 

Swing swaying, Miwa finds herself unable to answer this question. 

  
  
  
  


Suzuki Itsuki is an average boy who sits two seats away from Miwa. He is an average student, averagely loud in class, and an average acquaintance to Miwa, one who Miwa knows the bare minimum of and one who shares a smile with Miwa when they cross each other on their way to school. 

“I love your long hair,” he tells Miwa one day. Miwa had blinked in his direction, momentarily confused. Her long hair? As a volleyball player, Miwa hardly ever let her hair grow beyond her shoulders. But that day when she goes to look herself in the mirror, she finds her hair to be lengths past her shoulders, draping delicately. 

“Oh,” she says, toying with the ends. She must have forgotten to remind Kazuyo about her haircut for the upcoming volleyball season. She decides to remind her grandfather the following day, having no intent to tire him after he and Tobio return from watching yet another regional, kids volleyball game. Tobio had been growing more and more interested in volleyball as the days passed by. Somewhere between being a baby who crawled across the floor and becoming a strong boy capable of running the lengths Miwa ran every day, he had integrated himself in her and Kazuyo’s volleyball routines. 

The next day when Miwa arrives at school, she’s greeted with a note on her table. Miwa picks up the folded piece of paper and looks around to see if anyone is waiting for her, watching her closely as to catch her reaction. 

She sees no one. With one last look at the folds, Miwa drops her bag to the ground and unravels the message. Her heart stops when she sees the words. 

“What’s that?” Yua asks, peeking from behind Miwa’s shoulder. Miwa jolts at the sudden noise, crumpling the paper in her hands. Yua holds her hands up in surrender, “Oh sorry, did I scare you?” 

Miwa shakes her head and stands back up. With the note rolled up in her left hand, she tucks it away in the pocket of her cardigan, away from the eyes of the rest of the kids in the classroom. Yua waits, opening her mouth as to ask about the contents of the paper again. Miwa leans in before she’s questioned again, and whispers the answer in Yua’s ear. 

“Itsuki just asked me to be his girlfriend.” 

  
  
  
  


“That’s great!” Yua exclaims in a harshly loud whisper. Miwa throws her best friend a pointed look. 

Yua’s face falls upon viewing Miwa’s demeanor. “Isn’t it?” 

  
  
  
  


Itsuki likes Miwa’s long hair. Volleyball likes Miwa’s short hair. 

And Miwa likes volleyball. She truly does.

But does Miwa like Itsuki? This average boy to whom she has paid little to no attention? Miwa doesn’t remember ever thinking about liking him. To be honest, she doesn’t remember ever having interacted with the other outside of their shared smiles outside of the school building. But, according to Yua, dating means getting to know one another. And, according to Yua, none of the other couples knew each other as close friends before dating. 

“But I need to cut my hair,” Miwa tells Yua in the lunchroom. “I don’t think Itsuki will like me much after that.” 

Yua frowns. “Do you like volleyball more than Itsuki?” 

Yes, Miwa wants to say. Yes, I very much do. But when swinging on the swings yet again and seeing the awkwardness bloom around the budding couples on the playground, Miwa bites back the words to feed the rumble in her stomach. 

It does little to quell the emptiness. Miwa is not full anymore. She has known this for a while, known this in the grumbles she hears from within. But, right till this moment, she hadn’t the slightest of what to fill it with. 

Maybe, she thinks. Just maybe. 

“I think I do want a relationship,” she tells Yua, her voice distant, almost foreign to herself. It might as well just be, for she had, in the small moment that her swing oscillated back and forth once, decided to choose Itsuki over volleyball. 

“Then don’t cut your hair,” Yua had answered simply as if the solution were really just that easy. 

“I know,” Miwa sighs, kicking off of the ground and into the air. “I know.” She swings higher and higher and higher and—

  
  
  
  


“You quit volleyball?” 

“You said you liked my long hair.” 

“That’s dumb,” Itsuki huffs, kicking at the dirt. Miwa stands there still, watching as the rocks fall apart each time the other’s sneaker jabs at them. 

Itsuki might as well have been kicking Miwa’s heart. For, at that moment, no feeling of being full could’ve accounted for the cracks that tore at her own core, shattering a part of her that Miwa had never realized existed. 

Kick, kick, kic–

  
  
  
  


Itsuki and Miwa don’t last long. Itsuki is an average boy with average grades, average hobbies, and average interests. Miwa is not an average girl. She has stellar grades, obscure hobbies, and immense questions that challenge the existence of the universe as they know it. Miwa will eventually come to realize that they were never meant to be, no matter how hard she tried. 

Itsuki wasn’t for her. And yet, he still managed to walk in her life as a beacon of light strong enough to extinguish those that had stood for years on end, and as a beacon of light strong enough to leave a gaping darkness way larger than the meager rumbles threatening the fullness of Miwa’s heart. 

Kageyama Miwa doesn’t understand what she had wanted. She doesn’t understand what she had just lost. All she knows is the thought that something is missing. 

Broken up at the swings where she often spent her childhood afternoons, Miwa decides to look elsewhere for the eros everyone on the playground seemed to awkwardly enjoy in all its giddy goodness. 

  
  
  
  


Technically, it is Miwa who quickly passes by high school, leaving the years behind as she inevitably grows. Yet, in this inescapable journey of time, a part of her thinks high school was the one who left Miwa behind, progressing forward as she stayed stuck, swinging on swings that failed to reach the same heights as that one swing in her junior high playground. 

College life welcomes her just as indifferently as Miwa now welcomes others–distant, guarded, and devoid of care and consideration. College deems Miwa a student and takes her money before instantly walking away. Miwa deems people a person and takes nothing, walking away nonetheless. 

Miwa sighs. She has unpacked her belongings and arranged the few items all around her dorm room. A picture of her family, a picture of Yua and her, and a picture of her old volleyball team sit on her dresser, just underneath the lamp such as to illuminate each face when the device is turned on. Besides basic necessities and school supplies, Miwa had taped an extra picture of her and Tobio posing with his junior high volleyball jersey to the wall. In the picture, they’re smiling. For, beyond all the emptiness within, for Tobio, Miwa will always smile. 

There are no other pictures in Miwa’s room. There are no other pictures from high school, no other imprint or lights that could shine to indicate that such a time had truly passed. Contrary to the solution her younger self had thought of on that one swing that did reach heights, Miwa did not date anyone in high school. She hardly had the time, is what she tells herself as she looks at her empty walls. No one was interested is what she tries to reason. 

She, herself, wasn’t interested, she cannot bring herself to think. For, thinking such a thought would deem rationalizing it, internalizing it, and, eventually, understanding it. And, for some reason, such a thought is one that Miwa can neither question nor understand. And thus, she does not disturb the peace. 

Those who are important to her are already up on her wall, she rationalizes. Those who consider her important to them are up on her wall, she internalizes. Those who will bring her happiness and stability are already sitting, illuminated by the lit lamp, on her drawers, she understands. 

What more could she want? What more could anyone else give her?

Miwa has it all, doesn’t she?

  
  
  
  


**_Storge:_ **

**_A love shared between a parent and an offspring_ **

If there is one constant in Miwa’s life, it is Kageyama Kazuyo. As a pillar, he stands, lifting the world off of Miwa to let her breathe as she shakily stumbles through her worries and curiosities. 

If there is anything that can keep Miwa tethered as she drifts away, lost in her sea of thoughts and curiosities, it is Kageyama Kazuyo, holding her hand but never pulling as he lets her drift away and away and away and away, squeezing the hand occasionally before she found her lost in the worldly seas. 

He has always been there. Day in and day out. Through thick and thin. In the times where the sun shone too bright and the times the rain was too loud. 

Kageyama Kazuyo has always been there for Miwa. 

Until the pillars crumbled and the time came for him to fall adrift, untethered. 

Kazuyo dies. Miwa is not as surprised as she is pained. His condition had been worsening for quite a while, evident in his gradual withdrawal from his routine activities with her and Tobio. 

Nevertheless, his death still shakes her at her core. She takes shelter within, daring not to step into the world out of fear of the weight crushing her to her own demise. The only being allowed within her fabricated world is her young brother Tobio who is just as torn and if not, more hurt and confused at the disappearance of Kazuyo from his life. 

Miwa knows better. Miwa knows Tobio is spiraling, falling and drowning all at once. She knows her brother is hurting and just knowing so pains her even more. 

But Miwa is young. And Miwa is confused. And Miwa has just lost an integral beam in her framework and her foundation is on the verge of collapse. There is nothing Miwa can offer to Tobio, and yet, she still makes the effort to stretch out a helping hand, opening the doors to her unstable world for Tobio to take shelter in. Kazuyo may have held the world back for Miwa, but Miwa had been Tobio’s entire world for a short time. If welcoming him provides Tobio a brief reprise from the pain of their loss, then Miwa will withstand her falling house on her shoulders for as long as it takes for Tobio to get on his feet again. 

By no means is this easy. With the ground ripped from beneath her footing, Miwa had already lost the storge that had been keeping her upright and strong. It isn’t easy, but she isn’t about to let Tobio drown in the water that floods from the broken levee. 

Even if the gaping gash that Kazuyo’s death leaves in her foundation is seemingly unmendable. 

  
  
  
  


_**Philia** _

Miwa can’t remember the last time the thought of spending extra hours with her best friend sparked electricity in her heart. She can’t remember the last time she had smiled without feeling the discomfort of her cheeks rising as her lips stretched across her face, her eyes barely rising to the occasion, empty and hollow. Miwa can’t remember the last time she actually realized that the sun was shining. 

Kazuyo’s death hit hard. Miwa is growing tired of holding her walls up. Miwa is growing tired of pretending everything is okay. 

But she must. For the sanctity of the world she hides within, she must. For the protection of her young brother who is just as stranded as her, she must. 

Strangely, as cracked as it may be, no ray of sunlight breaks through the rubble. No light spills into the safe space as it breaks apart, becoming smaller and smaller day by day. 

The sun does not shine down on Miwa. Or, at least, that’s the lie she tells herself as she walks down sunny streets, unable to react to the warmth of the rays raining down on her as she drowns in the cold. 

In all her lies, Miwa almost convinces herself that the sun doesn’t exist. 

That is until, one day when visiting home, she sees Tobio enter their household, returning incredibly late from his first day of school at Karasuno. He’s just as quiet and just as reserved, but Miwa knows better. Tobio strolls into their house looking the same as he’s been, save for the wildness glinting in his eyes, burning just like the rest of his figure, causing him to look as if he had just had direct contact with the sun. 

  
  
  
  


_**Éros** _

Miwa is desperate. No, she feels desperate. The urge hasn’t yet reached her consciousness but Miwa can feel it lurk in the depths of her mind, hiding in the shadowed corners, inching closer and closer as if Miwa doesn’t see it coming. 

She does. The question she has to ask is if she’ll let it take over. 

She’s not even aware of what’s wrong. She can hardly pinpoint a single source to this never-ending cycle of never feeling full as she listens to the incessant rumbles of hunger groan through the tunnels of her mind. 

What’s wrong? What do you want?

These questions yield her no answers. 

  
  
  
  


Miwa maintains a blank composure at the sight of her girlfriend—now ex-girlfriend—holding back a sob as tears slowly roll down the other’s cheeks, reddened by the coldness of the winter air outside. She brings her hand up hesitantly, hovering over her ex-partner’s shoulder, unsure as to what would be the best method to console the other. 

In that brief moment, Miwa wonders if she even is the right person to provide the other comfort. After all, she is the one who had just broken up their months long relationship. After all she is the one who had been holding back for weeks on end, keeping the misplaced feelings of adoration and love away from Hina in an effort to protect the other from all that Miwa couldn’t bring herself to comprehend. 

Love. This relationship. The feeling of a connection so deep that one would never doubt it to be anything but love. 

When Hina collapses into Miwa’s arm, seeing the outstretched hand as an invitation for an embrace, Miwa sighs and curls into herself, even more, holding onto Hina with her eyes closed as she tries desperately to explore and reinvent the feeling of having such a lovely person in arms. 

Before, their position may have once caused Miwa’s heart to skip a beat, her core bubbling in happiness and excitement as she held Hina with no intention of letting go. 

But now… Now, it’s not quite the same, is it?

“M-may,” Hina whispers, shivering. “May I ask why? What was it? Did I do something?” 

“No,” Miwa answers, certain. “It wasn’t you.” 

It was me, she bites back. The words pierce her from within, leaving an awful taste in her mouth. Hina deserves more than a simple cliched response. Hina deserves more than a deflection of the real problem at hand, even if it truly is a matter of Miwa. 

Hina deserves more than Miwa. 

“I-” Miwa starts. She finds herself unable to find the words. “I-I can’t explain it,” she continues, distastefully, hating herself with each and every inadequate explanation she grinds through her teeth. “Maybe… I don’t think it was meant to be.” 

A moment passes. Snow continues to float around in the winter atmosphere. 

Hina pulls out of their embrace. Miwa doesn’t shiver at the cold left behind from the warmth that she had once felt. And Hina sighs, shoulders slouching. She spends some time in silence, wiping her tears away with Miwa watching intently, patiently, waiting for the moment when Hina may need to fall into her arms once more, depending on that which Miwa can’t provide for the other anymore. 

Hina stays still. So does Miwa. 

Hina looks up to meet Miwa’s eyes, disbelief and something else swirling in her red, puffy eyes, torn yet settled. The look itself is enough for Miwa to understand.

Simply put, Hina calls bullshit. She calls bullshit on Miwa’s shit excuse for breaking off what may have developed into a blossoming eternal love. 

She calls bullshit on Miwa not knowing what’s wrong. Miwa accepts it all without a word spoken, Hina’s cries slashing at her heart. Miwa accepts it all, unable to feel the pain–unable to understand it.

“I’ve got class,” Hina speaks hoarsely. Miwa nods. She had known this. 

“Do you want me to…” Miwa says. “… Walk you to class?” She had for the past few months, anyways. 

And, despite all the cries, Hina smiles, laughing lightly. It’s dry, hollow, yet there remains a fondness in the way her eyes crinkle and twinkle when looking at Miwa. Miwa thinks her heart should wrench in that moment. 

It doesn’t. 

“No, Miwa,” Hina states. “But thank you for the offering.” 

And with that, Hina leaves, leaving behind a numb heart shredded to pieces. 

Eventually, Miwa stands up to walk back to her dorm. Flurries dance in the air, spotting her cheeks with chills. She knows her cheeks are red, and the thought of that brings her back to the rosy cheeks with tears rolling down them slowly, gradually reaching the ground to become one with the snow settling all around. 

It’s winter. Hina was clearly cold on that bench. 

It’s winter. Miwa should’ve broken up with Hina indoors. 

It’s winter. It’s cold. And Miwa thinks her heart might just be colder than the season. 

  
  
  
  


What was the reason? What is the reason that Miwa so desperately ignores, hiding from it through externalized actions? 

What is it? Do you know? Did Hina? Because Miwa cannot make any clear sense of it. Searching within yields an emptiness so persistent, so unavoidable that it leaves Miwa spiraling into an abyss with no memory as to how she ended up falling in the first place. 

Maybe some things are not meant to last. Maybe love isn’t meant to last. 

Maybe, Miwa thinks, drifting away into the tunneling. 

Maybe.

  
  
  
  


Tobio is blessed with eros before Miwa. 

And for this, she is elated, _ecstatic_.

But it stings. It stings, pinching at the edges of the cavity in her chest, the pain dull and quiet, enlivening the happiness that swells in her heart. 

Miwa has been looking, searching, _scouring_ for so long, _so_ long— only to be left with nothing. 

And he hasn’t, instead he’s waiting, living nonchalantly, unaware of love beyond the limits of volleyball and Miwa. 

Yet, instead of answering her calls, eros comes looking for Tobio in the form of an incandescent boy haloed with tangerine hair. 

  
  
  
  


Maybe éros isn’t one to stay for long. Maybe it was an entity meant to be felt over and over, refreshed once the flavor runs out, and replenished with one’s supply runs completely dry. 

Maybe, she thinks. 

Maybe, she decides. 

No, she denies. 

  
  
  
  


She knows better. Miwa knows better to believe such a lie. 

Tobio and Shouyou are right there, young and carefree. They are right there, connected by their souls as they play to a love whose flavor never ends, and whose supply challenges the very concept of infinity. 

She knows better. But Miwa still repeats this lie. 

  
  
  
  


**_Xenia:_ **

**_Concept of hospitality, generosity and courtesy shown to those who are far from home_ **

The next time Miwa experiences a break up, it is not by her own doing. It happens in the living room of her apartment, late at night and on the couch where her boyfriend and her are lounging with a film on tv and snack in their hands. 

Miwa hadn’t seen it coming. Yet, she found herself unable to be surprised when Yuma had sighed when the movie ended and rubbed soothing circles into the side of her arm as he mumbled under his breath, “It’s now or never.”

“What’s up?” She had asked. 

Yuma looked her in the eyes, searching. Had Miwa known prior what was to come, she would’ve known Yuma had been searching for a sign, a message, anything to protest he was about to do. 

“I think we should break up.” Had Miwa known prior what was to come, she would’ve known that Yuma had found no reason to stay with her. 

“Oh,” is all Miwa could say. 

“Oh?” questioned Yuma. Had Miwa known prior what was to come, she would’ve thought that he was still searching, perhaps desperate.

“Uh,” Miwa stammered, searching for the right words to say. She called back to break up with Hina, thinking about what the other had said. What the other had done. Unable to cry, Miwa settles with a meager, “Why?” in response to Yuma’s expectations for her to say more. 

Yuma never explains why. He just leaves, standing up from the couch and grabbing his belongings and then heading for the door through which he had entered and exited many times, always with an unspoken promise of his return. 

Yuma leaves. And when he never returns, Miwa gives up on trying to understand why. 

Why won’t fix everything, anyways, she reasons, finishing the movie on her own. So why question it at all? 

Right? 

  
  
  
  


“Love is meant to stay, Miwa,” Her next boyfriend tells her. It’s a feeble, heated reaction in the face of her why. “You know that.” 

Miwa wants to laugh. She wants to scream, yell into the void and ask why love never stays with her, why it escapes her time and time again, leaving her behind to fend for herself and the emptiness that claws its ways from within. Kazuyo had left, her friends had left, and all her lovers leave. Who is she to expect any different than recurrent loneliness?

  
  
  
  


She knows better. She truly does. 

  
  
  
  


“Then tell me... Why doesn’t it stay with me,” Miwa vocalizes, salt dripping from her words like poison. The other sighs. 

“Because love is not what you’re looking for, Miwa.”

“Then what am I looking for?”

“I don’t know,” her ex explains with a shrug. He looks at her cautiously, not aiming to harm as he calculates his next response. 

“All I can tell is that you're searching in the wrong places.” 

  
  
  
  


Miwa sits alone at her small dining table, her dinner running cold in front of her. She pushes the veggies aside, poking at the meat on the plate. Her mind drifts elsewhere, tending to the void of her heart that spares her no definition, no specification, and no guidance. 

Her phone is right by her side. She could easily open up the device and swipe the rest of the night away on Tinder, or one of the other dating apps she has downloaded. Or, she could easily push it away, spending her night in complete solitude, just her and her dinner and her apartment.

_You’re searching in the wrong places._

Miwa isn’t feeling the Tinder. Nor is she feeling the dinner. 

A moment passes. Considerations are considered. Decisions are decided. 

Miwa sighs. Putting a spoonful of food in her mouth, she opens her phone and swipes. 

Some things are necessary, she tells herself. Some things are needed, regardless of whether you want them or not. 

Dinner is one of those things. A relationship is another. 

One of those two statements is a lie. Miwa pays it no mind with another spoonful of curry and another swipe to the right. 

  
  
  
  


Colored lights sweep the crowded floor, playfully bouncing off of the glitter and glam, showering the dance floor with flashing rainbows. The music booms from the walls, the bass thrumming against the infrastructure as people dance with reckless abandon, shaking up the dance floor with no sense of musicality or rhythm. 

Miwa is leaning over the bar counter, nursing a cocktail in her hands. She plays with the straw, swirling her drink around as she stares at the fruit mix with the juice, stirring up a sweet, alcoholic aroma. Miwa had asked for an extra shot. 

She’s thinking about having to think about something. She’s thinking about having to come to terms with something. She’s thinking about nothing and something and when she starts to incoherently ramble in her head, she places the straw on the counter and tips her head back to chug the entire drink down. Understandably, this is inefficient, and Miwa settles for a shot next, letting the smaller glass sit in front of her while she travels off into thinking. 

Some things are necessary, she tells herself. A part of it is a lie: her intent for thinking such a statement. But Miwa does not care, she’s been lying to herself for so long she might as well stop seeking for answers when any answer is a mere step away from her brilliant imagination. 

Miwa takes the shot. 

Lying is easy, Miwa tells herself. Lying is easy when you’re lying to yourself. It’s like performing, putting on a character who is unlike herself, but still wears the same face. Now, admitting to performing implies that the character Miwa wears is not who she truly—

Miwa orders another shot. 

Behind, the lights don’t stop. The music doesn’t stop. The dancing doesn’t stop, either. They’re all performing, aren’t they? They’re all entertaining another, lured and trapped in the intoxication of the night, growing more and more inebriated by the humidity, by the loud screaming, and by the ticking clock that warns them of the morning to come. 

They’re all lying to themselves, aren’t they? Just like Miwa? Everyone here is a performer, just like Miwa, correct? 

Miwa takes another shot. She tells herself it is the last one for the night. This action is very much in character with her role. 

She should join them, Miwa thinks. She should join the sea of bodies that dance to the will of the music’s winds, belonging amongst each other without having to worry about all the nuances of the individual and the group. They’re performing, and their show is a grand spectacle of waves crashing against the shore, wearing down the rocks that had stood tall for so long. 

Miwa was once a rock. But now, she thinks, her head light and footsteps disarrayed, she is one with the ocean. The ocean has accepted her, and as a droplet cast away in the sea, she will never be deserted, left behind. The ocean is too grand to do such a thing. 

The colors flash in her eyes. The music blares in her ears. Miwa tells herself that she loves this feeling, this rush that overtakes her. She tells herself that it’s loud enough to drown out the rumbles of hunger from her heart, exhilarating enough to overcome the pain of holding her own self up, and bright enough to convince her that the sun truly shines green, and blue, and purple, and red—

Miwa is a liar. And Miwa is a performer. And she has been these two for so long that now she is nothing but tired. Tired of the lights. Tired of the music. Tired of the lies. 

I’m tired, Miwa confesses to herself. 

The lights burn colors. The music screams notes. And of all the performers present in that one small bar on this particular night, Miwa is the first to leave the stage.

  
  
  
  


**_Philautia:_ **

**_A love for the self, regard for one’s own happiness and advantage; a human necessity_ **

Miwa wants to laugh. She wants to laugh desperately, laugh so hard that her sides hurt and that tears finally fall out of her eyes, breaking past the levee that has been holding everything back within her for years and years and year—

Miwa’s reflection stares at her like a ghost, hollow and desolate, her very being wisping away. The shelter she had created for herself had withered into nothingness long ago, leaving behind a Miwa vulnerable to the elements, eroding her as she remained curled within herself, too insecure and too afraid to search for a new home. 

Too afraid to make a new home, Miwa corrects. Sighing, she begs the emptiness in her eyes to agree with her. 

Agreement comes at the cost of a confession. Miwa sighs, forcing a chuckle out, the motion just as painful as the smiles she stretches across her apathetic complexion. 

Here goes nothing. 

Miwa has not been full for a while. Somewhere within the passage of time, the rumbles of hunger had turned to pangs that blinked in and out, pulsing in her chest, weighing down on the cavity till Miwa forgot what it meant to capable of breathing. 

But what? If she’s hungry, what is it that she must feast upon to quell the pangs? Is it famine? If this is a famine, then what are the crops that died? What are the crops that refuse to grow as each harvest season tolls around year by year by year by—

_You’re searching in the wrong places._

_“_ Where?” Miwa laughs. She falls into the sink, her arms barely holding herself up. “Where have I been searching? Itsuki? Hina? Yuma? Did I find the wrong person? What place do I look for? Huh, asshole?!” Her laughter turns desperate, hiccuped and on the verge of breaking down into sobs. The levee is about to give way. 

“Where should I look?” She yells. A tear falls. “Home? No. School? No. Online? No. Heh, let me guess, I need to look within, right? Search deep within for my 'true self' or some bullshit like that, right?” Laughter mixes with a waterfall cascading down her cheeks. Continuing to laugh, Miwa looks up. 

_Pause_. 

She is a liar. She is a performer. And the emptiness in her eyes calls for yet another confession, an admission, an acceptance. 

Her laughter disappears. Miwa is too tired to continue such an act. Her persona crumbles, bit by bit, feebly resisting the waves of emotions bound to crash down on her, bound to drown her as she stays there, still and lifeless, far too exhausted to fight anything anymore. 

“I can’t do it anymore,” she whispers, lip quivering. She's exhausted, tired to her bone. “I can’t fight you anymore,” her voice cracks. 

Miwa searches her hollow pupils. “What is it that you want?” 

  
  
  
  


“No… that’s not right….” 

  
  
  
  


“What is it that I want?”

  
  
  
  


Kageyama Miwa was seven years old when she thought the world to be oh so strange. She was thirteen years old when she first felt her heart crack. She was just about 20 years old when she lost the pillars that had always protected her. 

Kageyama Miwa is now 22. She has lived life long enough to have danced and performed with beacons of light that lie about being the sun. She has lived life long enough to have met all the forms of love, to have courted them, reveling in their radiance till each one eventually took a step back and left.

All but one. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Emotions flow into her gently, gushing like a peaceful stream, cautious as to not erode too much of the surrounding ground. It is calming. It is soothing. It is anything but what Miwa had been expecting. 

And Miwa allows herself to be swept away. 

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Miwa breathes out, laughing shakily at the end. No one can hear her but herself and she knows the answer before her eyes could even twinkle in the radiance of the single bathroom light above. She chuckles, throwing her hands up in defeat. “Fuck, that’s so cliche. You know what, don’t you?” 

Agreement now comes with ease.

She truly had been looking in the wrong places. Who else is to know how to fill the void better than herself? Who else? Surely not Itsuki. Nor Hina, or Yuma. How could they have known her desires when neither of them had met Miwa at her truest. 

When even Miwa refused to meet herself at her truest? Sure, a part of her still pulls her back in this very instance, trying to dress her up and feed her the lines and lies she’s to perform next. Lights like these don’t just switch on and off. They grow gradually, either blooming to their eternal essence or fading out into their incessant nonexistence. 

"No one understands what is and is not more important for you than you do", Kazuyo had told Miwa the night she’d confessed to quitting volleyball. She’d slipped a grumble about Itsuki calling her dumb for it, but her grandfather had been too confused in his giddiness to catch it properly. 

His words repeat themselves again, with the same mix of confusion and buzz, excited for something that neither it or she is aware of yet. 

“What’s important to me?” Miwa repeats. Of all the questions she's posed to the world above, never has she asked such a simple thing. “Looking for what I want in the right places, right?” 

Ultimately, even with this grand, profound moment of self-awareness, Miwa doesn’t know. She’s back to square one, questioning with no answers. She knows not what is important to her and she knows not of where to look for these answers. 

The mirror isn't where she should search. And yet, Miwa's eyes still dart around her reflection, her attention catching elsewhere. Her dark, midnight hair hangs, long and strong, way beyond her shoulders, reaching her hip. 

"Huh," Miwa mutters, lifting a hand to play with her ends. When it got so long, she hasn’t a clue. 

Questions. Answers. Important. Places Questions and answers. She does not know. She does not know. She does not kno– 

“I want to cut my hair,” she says out loud. The statement is loud and bold against the roaring contemplation in her head. Somehow, of all the questions she could ask, this is the one answer she knows enough to answer Kazuyo and claim it as important to her. 

Can she reason with the acknowledgment? No, but she knows it, nonetheless. 

“I want to cut my hair,” she repeats. The decision settles, and, in an oh so strange fashion, Miwa accepts it for what it is: an answer to no question. 

And so, Miwa cuts her hai, taking scissors to the long locks and snipping away the weight of it all strand by strand. 

The other questions can wait for their answers another time. 

  
  
  
  


Kageyama Miwa is 22 years old when she finally starts to understand philautia. This feeling is foreign, unknown to both her heart and her questions. But it doesn’t hurt, nor does it harm. The sensation is warm in her chest, light on her shoulders, and bright in her eyes. 

Miwa stands up. Rubble of her old, protective shelter falls off her back with the strands of her she brushed off of her shoulders. In the distance, she regards the sun once again, greeting the radiance as it descends down on her like the bright single light in her bathroom, twinkling in the depths of her eyes, depths that yearn in hunger for more of what this is that Miwa is offering. 

It won’t be easy, and Miwa is willing to accept the difficulty. Lies have tired her out so much that the transgressions of questions and their truths excite her, enticing levels of energy she had left behind at her junior high swing set, saving them for the arrival of éros. 

It wasn’t éros she had been waiting for. No, it wasn’t. But now with her own self standing by her side, she knows that she need not wait. 

Éros will come to her in due time. 

  
  
  
  


“Tobi, think fast!” 

“Wha—”

“Huh,” Miwa huffs, slightly disappointed at seeing her brother swiftly react to a volleyball hurtling towards his face. 

“What?” Tobio asks, setting the ball high for Miwa to react to at her own pace. 

Placing the wrench in her hand to the side, Miwa steps out and outstretches her arms, her forearms close and point upwards to receive the ball. She pushes up and out, returning the ball back to Tobio with ease. “I was hoping you’d miss.”

Tobio chuckles, shaking his head. He sets the ball back. “Shou has thrown the ball towards my head way too many times for me to miss.” 

Miwa laughs loudly. She bumps the volleyball directly above herself, stepping back to steady herself for her toss. “When’d he stop doing that?” She tosses the ball to Tobio. 

“He still does it,” Tobio responds. Kneeling forward, he receives the toss, directing straight to Miwa, the trajectory tall and arched and slow and damn, Miwa thinks. Tobio is really good at volleyball. 

“It’s now purposeful,” Tobio finishes, standing up to wait for Miwa’s return. She laughs at the addition, missing the volleyball as it falls to the ground. Tobio chuckles with her while he bends down to pick up another taped up box and bring it to Miwa's new apartment. 

“Tell him to keep up the good work,” Miwa pats Tobio on the back and grabs the wrench yet again. She turns to follow her brother into the building, internally dreading the assembly of her bookshelf. 

"Tell him that yourself," Tobio answers playfully, making room for Miwa to open the door. Turning the key into the lock, she stills and turns to look Tobio dead in the eyes. 

"I will," she states simply. 

"Don't, it'll inflate his ego," Tobio starts, tripping over his words as he sees Miwa step into the apartment without sparing him a second glance. "No! Wait! Ne-san, oi–"

The door closes behind him with a solitary slam. 

  
  
  
  


“You know,” Miwa says as she hangs up images on her wall. The task involves more time now, as there are more images to hang–images with new friends and new family. One of the largest frames showcases one of Miwa's happiest nights in her life: Tobio's and Shouyou's wedding. She doesn't recall much save for just how overwhelmingly happy all of them were, their elation captured perfectly in this image of Shouyou and Tobio holding each other in their arms as they try to dodge Miwa's and Natsu's attempts to smear cake icing all over their faces. It's silly, it's chaotic, and it's perfect in all the loves captured in a second. Miwa steers her eyes away from the image and sighs. “I wasn’t in the best place when I was in college. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No,” Tobio responds, voice distant. Miwa turns to see him staring at the wedding photo as well. 

She smiles, thinking her younger brother to be cute, and picks up another picture. It’s a picture of her first day with her coworkers at the hair salon she was recently hired at. The image in and of itself is strange, conveying the start of new relationships with just as energetic happiness as all the others on her wall. Miwa had been swept away by everyone's immediate acceptance, somehow finding it in herself to fall into the warm embrace of all these strangers. It was comforting. And it still continues to be comforting, day by day. “That’s okay," Miwa says. "I was searching for something, but I didn’t know what. It’s hard to search for things that you don’t even know, you know?” 

Tobio is silent for a moment. “Yeah. I understand.” 

Miwa is still smiling, looking at a silly picture of Shouyou and Tobio as she poses just as sillily with Natsu. It's from before their wedding, back when they were young and naive and innocent. “Eventually, I found it, but it’s not the type of thing you find just once. I keep finding it every day, something new to question.”

What is she even saying? Why is she even telling Tobio this? Miwa hardly expects Tobio to understand, starting to think of further explana–

“I know,” Tobio says, certain. 

“You do?” Miwa asks, sincerely surprised. 

Tobio nods, stepping forward to take the childhood photo from Miwa's hands and hang it on the day. “You seem happier. You're happy with yourself, Ne-san. Isn't that what you were looking for?” 

  
  
  
  


Miwa _is_ happy. This she can say with far more certainty than before. Miwa is happy and her heart is full and when she looks in the mirror she wonders whether she wants to try dying her hair next. Last time she had bleached her hair, it had been a minor project, serving as a trial for the look rather than a look itself. 

Catching her own gaze, Miwa lightly shakes her head, tilting her head in thought as she sees the grown hair faintly rustle, resting comfortably against her shoulder.

Maybe she will dye her hair. Or, she might simply cut it again. 

Or, she might not change it at all. 

“Decisions, decisions,” Miwa sing songs as she threads her fingers through the hair, picking up the strands to pull back into a bun. She’ll decide in due time, there’s no rush. 

Either outcome, as long as she truly sees herself in the mirror, she’ll be happy. 

  
  
  
  


_**Éros**_

It’s a slow day at the salon. Miwa has only had a few appointments in the morning, leaving her to deal with a completely open afternoon. At this particular location, walk-ins were quite rare, appearing sporadically throughout the month, leaving Miwa’s schedule completely free. Theoretically, she could’ve taken off the moment her last client had left the premises. In reality, Miwa needs the hours and the pay too much to swindle a few open hours away from her timecard. 

And so she’s stuck, seated on one of the swivel chairs as she watches her co-workers tend to hair, converses with customers willing to talk, and scrolls through her phone, smiling fondly at the pictures Tobio sends of him and Shouyou. For a brief while, her phone bursts with notifications from Natsu, the messages frantically asking for a haircut for her upcoming volleyball season. Miwa offers her available afternoon and Natsu schedules for the weekend, leaving Miwa all the time of the day yet again. 

Grumbling at Natsu saying she can’t come now because of homework, Miwa slouches in the chair and returns to her mindless scrolling. In the distance, the doors chime, welcoming or bidding farewell to a customer of their humble shop. 

“… Walk-in?” Miwa hears in the midst of her third Twitter refresh in a row. “You’re just in luck, we have someone available right now… Uh, Miwa?” 

“Yeah?” Miwa calls out, turning her phone off and hiding it in her pocket. She casually turns the chair around, crossing her legs to look up at the receptionist. “What can I hel…” She trails off, breath catching in her throat. She barely manages to force out the last words, her brain short circuiting and whirring into overdrive all at once. “…p you with?” 

“We have a walk-in,” she’s explained. “You free to take her up?” 

Miwa has just been struck by lightning, lightning that had been ordered to strike by the goddess of beauty standing in front of her. Electrocuted, Miwa processes nothing but the divinity standing in front of her, mouth agape with no words spilling out. And when said goddess makes direct eye contact with her, Miwa decides that she is ready to pass away, blessed by such a heavenly precense and unable to tear her gaze away from the jade irises decorated with flakes of gold and dust of diamond. 

“Miwa?”

“Yeah,” Miwa breathes out, strangely at a loss for both words and air to spare. This goddess in all her golden and diamond glory had stolen Miwa’s breathing, leaving behind a thirst so delicate yet so strong that Miwa was drunk before even drinking her all in. “Yeah… J-just this way…” 

Jade glints, shimmering at Miwa’s words and Miwa swears she truly is ready to happily give the other her all. 

“Thank you so much!” The goddess exclaims. Oh fuck, Miwa thinks. Her voice is magic. “You must be so busy today, I completely forgot to book before coming.” 

“No,” Miwa reassures, the words rolling off of her lips, eager to please. Guilt is not something this goddess should deal with. Leave it to me, Miwa thinks as she continues to speak, working through the motions of setting up her station. “No, my afternoon is actually completely free. All my appointments were in the morning.” 

“Oh, really?” The goddess asks. Miwa simply nods, holding up the cape as she walks behind the chair. The goddess leans forward to catch her hair in her hands, lifting it up to give Miwa easy access. Miwa’s heart skips every beat, head rushing and ears flushing as she brings her arms around the goddess to wrap the garment around and carefully clasp it behind the other’s neck. The other's moonlit, silver hair delicately falls back into place and Miwa swears she is flying on cloud nine. 

“So,” she clears her throat. “What would you like done today?”

The goddess hums. “Just a trim, please.” Miwa looks down to inspect the nearly perfect ends, lifting her hand to feel the soft strands. She flies even higher, higher than she remembers reaching on her swingset in junior high. 

“A trim? Would you like a hair wash and blow dry with it as well?”

The goddess hums again and Miwa starts to think of more questions to ask to hear the delightful sound again and again and again—

“I wouldn’t mind,” she answers before smiling bright at Miwa through the mirror. “Especially if it gives me more time to spend with you.” 

Lightning strikes yet again. Miwa is happy to know that this goddess is the last creature she will have laid her eyes upon. Life is complete and death is divine at the hands of such a breathtaking beau—

The goddess laughs. Miwa dies again. She starts to question how many lives she actually has. “I’m Haiba Alisa,” the other introduces, eyes playfully glinting as she waits for Miwa to take her side on this stage of whatever fairytale it seems they've been transported within. 

Miwa blinks. “I’m Kageyama Miwa,” she responds, her voice slow and small, laced with awe and such strong desire, Miwa might just jump out the nearest window. She’s so overwhelmed, oh so overwhelmed that she can barely think straight. 

What is this? What is happening? Why doesn’t she pass with each lightning strike? How is she kept alive by this goddess’s emerald eyes, trapped by the silver sheen of her moonlight hair?

What? How? This is oh so strange an— 

  
  
  
  


Kageyama Miwa is 28 years old when éros walks in her life in the form of a blessing sent to her from the moon and stars above. And she is just as unprepared as she knew she’d be, flailing around in the sea of love Alisa drags her into, so overwhelmed that breathing becomes an afterthought. 

Alisa holds her hand through it all, laughing bubbling through the waves that caress and crash and render Miwa into nothing for Alisa’s everything. A part of Miwa knows Alisa feels the same, just by how strongly the other holds onto her hand, anchoring the two of them to each other in this unbridled yet blissful storm. 

Kageyama Miwa is 28 years old and eros decides it's time to grace her life in the form of Haiba Alisa. 

And she couldn't be happier. 

  
  
  
  


“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce for the first time, our newly wedded couple, Kageyama Miwa and Haiba Alisa,” Lev yells into the mic, outstretching his arms after to gesture to the flowered path down which Miwa and Alisa hail, walking with their arms interlocked, smiling brighter than the sun above. The crowd roars for them and their love, clapping and cheering as Alisa takes Miwa's hand and kisses her knuckles before twirling her lover around. They all laugh as Miwa trips and falls into Alisa's embrace, with Natsu yelling at Miwa for doing it on purpose. 

Miwa is happy. There is no doubt about that, not when she's held like so by Alisa. And she is full. There is no doubt about this, either, not when everyone celebrates for her, filling her with loves of all types to congratulate the matrimony of another. 

Their reception is just as lively and energetic as expected, with many familiar faces taking to the floor that is gently lit in love as the music subjects to the adoration dancing in the air. They all sway, picking up and following the rhythm Miwa and Alisa set as they glide across the ground, the world around them left behind as they revel at the true beauty they are able to hold in their arms. 

It’s perfect, Miwa says. It’s perfect, Alisa agrees with a dip and a kiss. 

The night flies by, not immune to the passage of time. Love in this form leaves Miwa tired, and she rests in Alisa’s arms, head leaning against the other’s shoulder as the other rubs her arm soothingly. They silently watch as the various forms of love take to the floor, flourishing in their true selves, ringing bells of enjoyment and elation. 

This is perfect, Miwa whispers to Alisa. Agreement comes as a kiss softly pressed to her forehead. 

Natsu suddenly twirls in their direction, giggling happily. Miwa smiles warmly, eyes softening as she watches such innocence grace the night with her presence. The younger continues towards them, bringing her hands out and up to shower them in soft petals. Alisa laughs as a petal settles on Miwa’s nose, her voice ringing like heaven just as it did the first day they had met. 

How did Miwa end up here? Happy and complete and satisfied? How did she reach such heaven when her starting point was a sole swingset that swayed back and forth, never reaching beyond height Miwa didn’t think she could reach? 

How? 

“Na-chan?” Miwa calls out. The petal falls from her nose, drifting to the ground slowly, as she sits up, her hand traveling to the flower crown placed carefully in her hair. Alisa watches her curiously, moving to make room. 

“Yes?” Natsu asks, stepping closer. She comes closer when Miwa motions her to do so. Confused and standing right in front of Miwa, she shifts on her feet, still keeping the dance of love alive within her. 

“I learned something when growing up,” Miwa starts, lifting the crown from off of her head. When Natsu stills to give the older all her attention, wide eyes watching the crown with a million questions roaring in her eyes, Miwa smiles, bright and warm and full of adoration and sincerity. She reaches forward and places the crown on Natsu's head, adjusting its position as she speaks her next words.

“For love to come to you, love yourself first.” 

There is it. This confession. This agreement. This conclusion of Miwa's life thus far. 

It was this that she had been looking for all those years ago. It was this she had tried to question, tried to internalize, and tried to understand during all those years of searching for pieces to feed the hollowness within. 

It was this that Miwa had accepted that one night in her bathroom, her doubts falling away with the strands of her hair that had fallen to the ground. 

It is this that she’d like Natsu to question, to internalize, and to understand as she flourishes through the years of her own youth. 

Natsu lights up, smiling with a nod. She pokes at the crown in her hair, shaking her head to see if it'll fall off. “I know that already, Miwa-ne,” she giggles when the crown is secure, easily returning back to her swaying. “I learned it from you. And ni-san. And Tobio-ni.” 

Her response is oh so simple and oh so direct and Miwa thinks she might cry. She truly is happy, she truly is full, and she truly is complete. And the love she gives is now overwhelmed by the love she receives, flooding her with emotions her small body can’t seem to contain. 

Miwa chokes back the tears, her smile watery and alight. Natsu sways and smiles, excited and bright. “Good," Miwa states, using some form of her older sister voice. "Now go back to the dance floor. I think our brothers need some help out there,” she continues, turning emotions into laughter. Alisa leans against her to get a look at the crowd still dancing. 

“How long are they going to go for?” she asks, amazed. Natsu has already ran away, beelining straight for the two awkward men aggressively dancing against and with each other–which it is, no one can tell. 

Miwa huffs. “Those two? They could go forever. They have been going at it forever.” She then laughs, shaking her head. Alisa turns to Miwa, her emerald eyes glowing knowingly as she brushes a stray tear away from Miwa’s eye. 

“What?” Miwa asks, voice suddenly small when Alisa doesn't stop staring. 

Alisa leans in, not blinking once. “I can, too.” She holds Miwa carefully, her arms strong and gentle, and brings up a hand to cradle her lover’s face. “I can do this forever, as well.”

Oh. Lightning strikes and Miwa realizes that she may never learn how to breathe ever again. Not when Alisa spares her no chance to draw to the surface of the sea to gasp for air. This is okay. It’s not like Miwa was looking to breathe. 

“Me, too,” she whispers, shaking internally from the electricity and the love. Without hesitation, Miwa sighs and relaxes into the tide that melds them together, their lips softly pressed together as they become one, one with the sea of love. 

Alisa meets her halfway, anchoring them together, with no intention of ever letting go. 

  
  
  
  


Miwa is 31 years old, and the world is still oh so strange. 

Miwa is 31 years old, and the world is still oh so strange and people are still just as confused but now she questions not alone, but with the types of love that have graced her life, filling up her walls with pictures of those important to her. 

Miwa is 31 years old. She is happy. She is full. And she couldn’t ask for anything more. 

  
  
  
  


<3

**Author's Note:**

> wow ok uh yes i hope you enjoyed. i literally crammed this in three? days after a month long dry spell of writing. uh, yeah. 
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> THANKS FOR READING!
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> you can visit me and the lovely beta and artist for this work at the following socials:
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> [me!](https://twitter.com/d_fenestrate) [christy!](https://twitter.com/cosmogonyAO3) [kaa! ](https://twitter.com/kaartwheels)
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> this was hella fun. now to my other wips alksdjalksdjaklsdjlkasdjklad. 
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> till next time!!!


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